


Oh, Brothers

by dontletthevampiresbite



Series: my dream smp fics [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Sleepy Bois Inc
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Adopted Toby Smith | Tubbo, Alternate Universe - Dream Team SMP Setting (Video Blogging RPF), Alternate Universe - High School, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Brother Feels, Brotherly Bonding, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Caring Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Cute Kids, Dadza, Dysfunctional Family, Family Bonding, Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fun, High School, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kid Wilbur Soot, No Smut, Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Protective Siblings, Protective Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Protective Wilbur Soot, Sibling Rivalry, Siblings, Sleepy Bois Inc Angst, Sleepy Bois Inc Fluff, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Technoblade Protects TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade is Bad at Feelings (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade is a good big brother, Teenagers, TommyInnit Has ADHD (Video Blogging RPF), Twins Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot Angst, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade are Siblings, Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, first grader tommy, techno is two minutes older than will, teenage wilbur and techno, tommy hates school
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:21:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29177880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontletthevampiresbite/pseuds/dontletthevampiresbite
Summary: Sleepy Bois Inc. + Tubbo family dynamic. Phil wonders why he decided it was a good idea to have children with a Samsung fridge. 7-year-old Tommy is learning cuss words, and testing them out at inappropriate times. Wilbur is an angsty teenager. Techno is done with everything.And then they find a box. Nothing will ever be the same again.(I was sleep-deprived when I wrote this. Also, it somehow goes from fluff and funny family antics to angst in two chapters, so be ready)
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & Technoblade & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Series: my dream smp fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2194086
Comments: 30
Kudos: 378





	1. Chapter 1

“Another behavior report, Tommy?” Phil sighed, taking the yellow slip of paper from his youngest son. “That’s the third one this week.”

“Yeah.” Tommy had the good sense to look at least slightly ashamed, but Phil could see the indignation and anger brewing in his blue eyes. He sat down on the couch, Tommy throwing himself down next to his dad and crossing his skinny arms over his chest. “Teachers are stupid.”

Phil stifled a laugh with a throat-clearing cough, glancing down at the paper. _Tommy uses language inappropriate for his age. It was more or less the same as the stack of papers sitting on the untidy kitchen table. Tommy has shown once again that he cannot obey the simplest instructions. Tommy does the opposite of what he’s told. Tommy makes unwise decisions. Tommy doesn’t know when to stop talking. Tommy continues to be a distraction during class. Tommy has a bad temper, and doesn’t think before he speaks._

Tommy fidgeted, eyes tracking Phil’s unreadable expression as he read the report, focusing on the melodic guitar and soft warble drifting from the kitchen. Finally, his dad looked down at him, and the boy’s shoulders slumped in relief at the slightly exasperated but amused twinkle in his eyes. “Tommy, you can’t curse during class.” Phil held up a finger before Tommy could argue. “I know your brothers do, and at home, it’s not as bad, but you can’t say those things at school.”

“Why?” Tommy scrunched up his nose, which was covered by a band-aid, courtesy of Techno’s wooden toy sword.

The quiet singing stopped, but the guitar continued. “Because school is shit,” a soft British voice called from the kitchen, telling Phil exactly who had taught Tommy curse words. “You can’t have fun or do anything interesting. Fuck school.”

“Wilbur,” Phil admonished, “I will handle this. Do your homework.”

“I already did it. And I’m just being honest.” Will shrugged. “You know I’m not wrong. Tommy’s only in primary school. It only gets worse.” At fourteen, Wilbur believed he already knew everything he needed to know, and hated everything about everything. Thus, he felt inclined to pass his knowledge on to Tommy, who so far enjoyed the world but despised authority.

The younger boy’s frown deepened, almost panicked, and his foot began to tap spasmodically, completely out of time with the guitar. “How can it get worse?” Tommy demanded. “It’s already shit!”

The music halted entirely as Wilbur laughed humorlessly. “Just wait until”

“Will!” Phil snapped, shutting everyone up immediately. Their father rarely showed when he was upset, so even stubborn Wilbur glanced over at him, adjusting the maroon beanie on his wild brown curls. “Tommy, at school, you need to be polite. You will have more freedom as you get older, but for now, just listen to your teachers and follow their instructions.”

“This is bullshit,” Tommy grumbled, jumping off the couch to run into the kitchen where his brothers were. Phil followed, knowing the youngest was itching for a good fight. Sure enough, he was making a beeline for Techno, who sat with his laptop, fingers tapping at the keyboard as quickly as Wilbur’s on the fretboard. The relaxing chord progression Will strummed definitely didn’t fit the mood as Tommy advanced on their seemingly oblivious oldest brother.

Phil seized Tommy at the same moment as Tommy grabbed Techno’s chair leg, yanking it as hard as he could so the chair tipped. Techno steadied himself right before his chair hit the floor, and turned to glower at Tommy. The boy smiled cheekily at Techno, who grinned back in a much more threatening way to reveal abnormally sharp white teeth before he swept a leg out, effectively pulling Tommy off of his feet. He landed on the floor with a dull thud.

“Ow,” Tommy whined, kicking at his brother. “That hurt my virgin ass.” Techno choked on air, meeting Phil’s gaze. No matter how moody and turbulent Techno could be, he never cursed or said anything mildly inappropriate, so Phil knew exactly where Tommy had learned that word.

He glared at Wilbur, but Will just shrugged nonchalantly, failing to suppress a cheeky smirk that rivaled Tommy’s as he strummed another chord.

Tommy, who had been intrigued by Techno’s reaction, turned to Phil curiously. “It’s just a donkey,” he said, frowning. “What’s so bad?”

“Tommy,” Phil warned halfheartedly, giving his youngest son a look. Phil wasn’t opposed to cursing; he often cursed himself, but Tommy was still in primary school and Phil suspected that he already had at least eleven curse words in his vocabulary. And now he knew the word _virgin_. Phil ran a hand through his long blond hair. _I’ll never leave Will alone with Tommy again._ “First of all, don’t use bad words.”

“What? It’s just a donkey!” Tommy repeated indignantly, scooting closer to Wilbur, who chuckled with him. The sparkle in his bright blue eyes informed Phil that Tommy knew full well what ‘ass’ meant.

“He’s talking about virgin,” Wilbur snickered, almost too softly for Phil to hear.

“You said it means young!” cried Tommy. Wilbur guffawed, and Tommy scowled at him, obviously upset at being left out on some teenager knowledge. “I don’t get it!”

Phil wasn’t sure how to answer the question, and Wilbur was giggling too hard, so Tommy turned pleadingly to Techno, who seemed fully focused on his laptop but, as always, was aware of everything.

“It’s, uh,” Techno mumbled, again looking at Phil for help. “Well. You know virgin olive oil?” Wilbur couldn’t even play guitar anymore; he was roaring with laughter.

“No shit,” Tommy replied. “Just tell me what virgin means!”

“It means,” Wilbur gasped, his face red and tears in his eyes, “you haven’t… haven’t had s-sex yet,” he choked out, sending Tommy into a fit of giggles.

Techno’s head fell into his hands, and Phil stared at the second-oldest incredulously. “Will!” he berated as his younger sons continued to laugh raucously.

“Sex!” Tommy cackled. “Sex, sex, sex, sex ” Wilbur howled, tears streaming from his eyes.

_Why is being a dad so hard?_ Phil wondered for the umpteenth time. Techno glanced at him apologetically.

“Just so you know, I didn’t teach him,” the oldest told his father.

“I know.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of angst, but it's okay. I honestly don't know how the angst happened. I was just trying to write family fluff.

Eventually, Wilbur and Tommy calmed down a bit, but every time they made eye contact, one or both of them would stifle a laugh, which would make the other laugh even harder.

_I have to do something,_ Phil realized. Everyone was bored out of their minds with school, and he could tell that Tommy was still pissed off with his teachers. Wilbur strummed and plucked at his guitar absentmindedly, face somber. Even Techno had lost focus, staring blankly at the essay on his laptop screen.

Phil discarded Tommy’s behavior report slip and stood, lifting up his little son. As the youngest in the family, Tommy always ignored the affection of other people, feeling patronized by the “coddling”, but he couldn’t deny the comfort physical touch brought him, so he allowed Phil to hold him, arms and legs wrapping around his dad like a clingy monkey.

“Wilbur, Techno, come on.” Both teens looked ready to argue, but at Phil’s grave expression, Wilbur slung his guitar strap over his shoulder and jumped up, silently followed by Techno. Phil slid his sandals on and leaned down to take his green-and-white striped hat from the table, but it was immediately snatched by Tommy, who tugged it over his own mop of unruly dark blond hair. The garment looked ridiculously large on the boy, the brim falling nearly to his bandaged nose, but Phil grudgingly let Tommy keep the hat, his son’s face breaking into an innocent, infectious grin as Phil opened the door. A breath of crisp, cool air drifted into the warm house, and Phil balanced Tommy on his hip to draw his coat tighter around both of them, though Tommy was too excited to notice the cold.

“What’s going on?” Techno asked flatly, raising a brow. “I still have an essay to write, you know.” Tommy released Phil’s neck with one hand and reached down to pull his older brother’s shaggy hair, which had grown so the roots were brown while the rest was pink. Techno ducked, growling when Tommy tugged a bit too hard. “Ow!”

Tommy pulled his hand back, a few pink strands sticking to his fingers, grinning at Techno, who bared his teeth in a less playful, almost animalistic way. Tommy yelped and wrapped himself tighter around Phil, daring to peek over his dad’s shoulder at his brother.

“Boys, cut that out,” Phil scolded without looking at either of them. “Everyone seems a bit grumpy today, so we’re going to take a walk and clear our heads. Homework can wait.” His tone left no room for argument, and they followed him out of the house.

Tommy squirmed in his arms, shivering in his t-shirt and shorts, and Phil pulled him closer, jolting when Tommy’s ice-cold nose bumped his warm neck.

“Jesus Christ, it’s freezing,” Wilbur hissed, tugging his beanie lower over his ears. Techno, too proud to complain or show weakness, just trudged on.

Phil felt a tug at his shirt, growing more and more urgent. Suddenly, Tommy yanked at his collar hard enough that a button popped free.

“What is it?” he asked the little boy, who was pointing at the opposite side of the street, where a somewhat large cardboard box sat.

“There’s a box,” Tommy informed him, tugging at his dad’s shirt in the way that meant he wanted down. Phil lowered his son to the ground, and Tommy ran over to the box as quickly as his little legs could carry him, while his brothers caught up.

“What the heck is that?” Techno demanded when he reached Phil.

“It’s a cardboard box,” Wilbur replied helpfully, grinning when his older brother glared at him.

Within seconds, Tommy was back, his eyes wide. “The box has eyes.”

Techno groaned. “I think he hit his head when I knocked him over.”

“I did not! And it moved. I swear to God.” Tommy looked up at Phil imploringly. “The box has eyes.”

“That’s bullshit,” said Wilbur. “You’re hallucinating.”

“I am not!” Tommy insisted. “The box has eyes and it moved! I saw it! Come on!” He seized Phil’s hand and practically dragged his dad across the street. Wilbur followed, exchanging an amused look with Techno, who rolled his eyes before joining them.

The box wasn’t in great condition. It appeared to have been dropped several times, possibly down a few flights of stairs. The corners were busted-up, a few flimsy pieces of tape keeping it from collapsing into sheets of cardboard. There were even two ragged holes in the side of the box, looking unnervingly like eyes

“What the hell,” Techno muttered, the tiniest hint of surprise entering his usually monotone voice.

And, yeah, the box was moving. The sides were gradually pushing out as if it was being dented from the inside. Remnants of tape strained to hold the cardboard together. Every time the box moved, a muffled grunt came from inside. Phil even thought he saw the gleam of eyes through the holes.

“There’s a person in that box,” was all Phil could say. His mind was whirling. _Who would put a person in a box?_

“I told you!” Tommy wandered closer to the box, ignoring Phil’s warning about dangerous people in boxes.

“No, you said the box was moving and had eyes,” Wilbur pointed out, but Tommy didn’t seem to hear him as he stood in front of the eyeholes, peering into the darkness. Techno had moved closer, standing slightly behind Tommy with his feet planted in a protective stance, ready to leap in front of his little brother. Even pacifist Wilbur clutched the neck of his guitar like the pommel of a sword.

Suddenly, the box shrieked, making everyone jump. Phil and the older two were instantly standing in front of Tommy as the box lurched, starting to rock back and forth, and Phil reached for his sword.

“Get out of the box,” he ordered, the slim blade sliding out of its scabbard with a whine of metal. “Come on out slowly and I won’t hurt you. If you make any sudden moves, I will hurt you.” The ice in his voice was so unlike his usual warmth. His sons were silent for once, remembering that despite their dad’s joking nature, he was well-trained in combat and could be downright deadly when he felt threatened. “I’m going to count to three,” Phil continued in the same cold tone, “and if you’re still in the box, I am going to cut it open. One.”

There was a furious hammering at the side of the box, and a muffled shout. Tommy flinched, opening his mouth to speak, but closed it when Will shook his head almost imperceptibly.

“Two.” Phil waited, but the box stayed shut. Techno’s jaw clenched just barely as Phil angled the sword. “Thr”

“Wait!” Tommy shouted, startling everyone. “Don’t! I think he’s stuck in there! He can’t get out!” Before anyone could react, he jumped in front of the sword.

Phil’s eyes widened in panic as the sword swung towards his youngest son, trying to pull back, but the world had slowed down around him. Tommy didn’t move, standing in front of the box, watching his father’s sword as it moved closer, until he could see his own blue eyes in the gleaming blade, fearless and unwavering. His goddamned seven-year-old son was going to sacrifice himself for a stranger who was stuck in a fucking cardboard box. Phil was going to kill his own son.

And then Techno was in front of Tommy, eyes stony and distant, mouth set in a grim line. He had no weapon, no way to defend himself. No, all he could do was save Tommy, his little brother, who was more precious to him than anything in the world.

A flash of gold and brown and the sword collided with something, an awful screech echoing.

Wilbur stood between his father and brother, his guitar raised, strings splitting as Phil’s sword sliced through them. Each string snapped against Wilbur’s hands as it broke, leaving angry red welts on slender musician’s fingers, but he held on, even as the last string snapped against the soft area between his thumb and pointer finger, even as the blade cut through the body of the guitar, above the soundhole, even as his beloved guitar cracked in half, wood splintering and shattering on the ground until his son was holding only the neck of his guitar, broken strings dangling from the tuning pegs.

The sword slipped out of Phil’s hands, clattering to the ground with the broken pieces of Wilbur’s guitar, and he reached for his sons, pulling them close, repeating _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,_ until he couldn’t breathe anymore.

Will didn’t move. He just gripped the neck of his guitar and stood there, while Tommy buried his face in Phil’s coat, Techno staring at Wilbur from next to Tommy. And Wilbur sank to the ground, silently cradling his broken guitar.

\---

After what felt like hours, Wilbur stood up, clutching his guitar strap. “I needed to replace the strings anyways,” was all he said, voice flat and emotionless.

“Will—” Techno started, but his brother waved him off.

“It’s okay,” Will said. “We’re okay.”

“He’s not okay,” Tommy reminded them, pointing to the box, which had ceased its rocking. “He’s still stuck in there. Gimme the knife.”

Generally, when a seven-year-old demands to be given a knife, you wouldn't give him one, but Techno handed Tommy his pocketknife, and the younger boy peeked into the eyeholes of the box.

"I'm gonna open the box," Tommy called. "Don't move." He carefully flipped open the knife and sawed through the cardboard, ripping a jagged gap in the side of the box. “What the shit?”

Phil didn’t reprimand him this time, not because being told to not do something usually made Tommy want to do it even more, but because of the little boy sitting cross-legged in the box, squinting up at them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TUBBOX :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ending with some fluff :) there is brief implied child abuse and trauma, so proceed with caution

He looked to be around Tommy’s age, maybe slightly younger, with a round baby face smudged with dirt and grime. His fair hair was a matted mess of twigs and leaves, and his clothes were faded and threadbare. Despite his condition, he was a very cute, angelic-looking child.

_Who would leave a kid in a box_? Phil couldn’t imagine ever abandoning one of his own sons. He stared at the little boy, who stared back up at him unblinkingly through wide, dull blue eyes, clouded with memories. _He’s so young, and yet he’s seen so much. What has this child gone through?_

Wilbur was the first to speak. “Why the fuck is there a child in a box?” His sharp voice seemed to startle the child, and he scooted back into the corner of the demolished box, as far away as he could get from the four intruders.

Tommy squatted down next to the boy so they were almost the same height, and the other boy glanced up at him cautiously.

And then something happened. Tommy, who didn’t get along well at all with kids his age, reached out towards the young stranger. The boy in the box flinched away slightly, before peeking at him from behind his tangled mop of hair. The reaction hardly discouraged Tommy. He laid his palm on the boy’s paler hand, not gripping or tugging, just resting it there. The other boy’s gaze shot to the hand, but he didn’t pull away. Tommy, seeming to take this as progress, smiled shyly at him, no laughter or mischief in his gaze.

“I’m Tommy,” he told the other boy in a soft voice, so unlike his usual boisterous tone. “What’s your name?”

“Tubbo.” It was a hoarse whisper, as if the boy in the box hadn’t spoken in days.

“Why are you in a box?” Tommy asked curiously, the question devoid of judgement. Tubbo ducked his head, almost in embarrassment, and Tommy shook his head. “You don’t have to answer that.” He looked at Tubbo curiously. “Are you alright?”

“Tubbo has his box,” Tubbo replied simply, his eyes trained on Tommy’s but looking beyond the boy in front of him. “Tubbo’s box.”

“Tubbo.” Phil cleared his throat nervously. “Where are your parents?”

He realized it was the wrong question a moment before Tubbo’s face shuttered, expression turning guarded. “They’re gone.”

“Gone?” Wilbur chimed in. “Gone where?”

“Just gone. Not coming back. Gone.” Tubbo turned away from the prying questions, the hand under Tommy’s clenching into a fist. “Just Tubbo.”

Tommy frowned at him. “Do you have a house?” he asked the smaller boy.

Tubbo shook his head, tufts of light blond hair flying around his face. “Just Tubbo and his box.” Techno grunted in disbelief, while Wilbur’s lips parted, then closed, gaping like a fish.

Tommy’s next question caught everyone off-guard.

“Do you want to come home with me?”

Phil inhaled sharply. He had been considering the option as well, but hadn’t thought his youngest would be so forward about it. The older boys stared at Tommy, just as shocked.

Tubbo sat up straight, his eyes not leaving Tommy. “Tubbo doesn't have a home.”

“We can give you a home.” The words were out of Phil’s mouth before he could even process what he was doing. Since he’d first seen Tubbo, cowering in the box that had become his home, he knew he wasn’t going to leave the child here. Tubbo had already been abandoned, discarded by the road like a piece of unwanted furniture. _I'm not going to let that happen ever again._

Something darkened in Tubbo’s eyes. “No, you can’t. Tubbo doesn't have a home.” He glanced down at his lap. “Tubbo doesn't belong anywhere. He doesn't deserve a home. He’s a waste of space.” The awful words weren’t spoken bitterly, just plainly stated like a fact, a belief that Phil suspected had been drilled into him since he’d entered the world. “Tubbo belongs nowhere.”

“Bullshit,” Wilbur growled, Tubbo shying away at the fury in his voice. Will's tone softened. “Everybody has a home,” he amended, kneeling beside Tommy. “You belong somewhere. You’re here for a reason, Tubbo, and you deserve a home. You have purpose. You just haven’t found it yet.”

“All Tubbo does is upset everyone,” Tubbo whispered, still staring at the ground. “He makes them angry. Makes them yell. It’s Tubbo’s fault.”

“You don’t make them yell,” Tommy corrected. “People yell. They get upset, and they yell. It’s not your fault.”

“Tubbo’s fault,” Tubbo repeated, rocking back and forth where he sat, his knees pulled close to his chest, as if he could make himself small enough to be unnoticed. “Tubbo can’t do anything right. There’s something wrong with him. Tubbo isn’t a normal kid. He’s broken.”

“You aren’t broken,” Phil murmured, his chest tightening painfully. “Nobody is normal. There’s something wrong with everyone, and that’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

Tubbo raised his head to look up at the older man, his eyes full of shame. “Tubbo can’t read. He’s eight years old, and he can’t read. There’s no hope for him.”

Techno made a soft, pained noise, his eyes not leaving the little boy’s face.

“Me too,” Tommy chimed in. “I’m almost eight, and teachers said there’s something wrong with me.” Phil turned to his son in shock.

"They said that?"

“Yeah. They said I’m the worst kid in the world, I can’t follow directions or listen, and I don’t know when to shut my mouth.” Tommy sounded oddly proud of the criticism.

“Tubbo likes it when you talk,” Tubbo told him quietly. “Sounds nice.”

“Really?” No one had ever complimented Tommy’s voice. Loud, annoying, obnoxious, boisterous, and rowdy, sure, but never _nice_.

“Yeah.”

“I like it when you talk, too.”

Tubbo flushed at the compliment and fell silent again, fiddling with his worn, fraying shirtsleeve.

Tommy looked at him, expression too serious for a seven-year-old. “Will you come home with us?”

Pale blue eyes that had seen far too much scanned the four faces in front of him, pleading, somber, guarded, and earnest. Slowly, hesitantly, he stood up, taking Tommy's outstretched hand.

And that’s how Phil ended up adopting a fourth son, and how Tommy met his best friend, his other half, his soul brother.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years later, many things have changed, but some things will never change.

Tubbo believed the sun had already set on him when he was sealed into a box and left by the side of the road.

It was so dark, he could’ve gone blind and wouldn’t have known. He had no idea how much time was passing. He sat in that box, barely managing to sleep, losing energy, feeling himself slip further and further away.

One day, he panicked, clawing at his confines with frail, trembling hands until his fingertips throbbed and stung, his nails bleeding stubs. He managed to tear two holes in the thick cardboard, barely large enough for any light to seep through.

Eventually, the light became too bright, and he spent hours (days?) curled into the far corner of his box, where the shadows wrapped around him like blankets, and he turned to them, a constant in his ever-changing world. He spoke to the darkness, and sometimes, it spoke back to him. He told the darkness he was hopeless, a boy worth nothing, who couldn’t do anything right. He confessed his failures, admitted his fears, and told his story to the shadows who enveloped him.

And then the box was torn open by a boy with fire in his heart. The sunlight had hit Tubbo’s face again, but all he could see was the bright, burning boy in front of him, whose golden hand reached out to touch him. And Tubbo let him. In that moment, he knew not to hide. He wasn’t just another shadow.

_I’m here. I’m alive. I’m here. I’m here._ That warm hand had pulled him out of the darkness that had become a part of him. Sometimes, when you’ve been left alone in the dark for too long, some of it lingers, a smudge of oily residue that just doesn’t wash away, no matter how hard you scrub at it.

But over time, that dark stain was slowly being bleached out by the light that had entered Tubbo’s life.

Tommy was his sun, overwhelmingly flashy, obnoxiously bright, constantly drawing attention, shining directly into Tubbo’s eyes so he had to squint, and always waking him up far too early in the mornings. Despite his near-manic fervor, Tommy brought light into Tubbo’s life.

“Tubbo, hurry up!” Tommy shouted. The lanky blond boy slowed, turning around to look at his brother as Tubbo crested the grassy hill, slightly winded but grinning.

“You’re taller than me,” he complained.

“Yep.” Tommy grinned at him, exposing the silver braces on his teeth. “Or maybe you’re just slow.”

“I am not slow!” protested Tubbo. It had taken nearly five years, but he had eventually broken his habit of speaking in the third-person. He still talked to himself sometimes, but that wasn’t considered abnormal the way referring to yourself as a separate person was. “You’re just a freakishly tall bastard.”

Tommy’s height had increased significantly in the past year, while Tubbo hadn’t yet hit his first growth spurt. Still, despite being a whole head shorter than him, Tubbo managed to keep up with Tommy’s strides, and, more impressively, his energy. His brother had always been a force of chaos, and showed no signs of calming down anytime soon. At twelve years old, Tommy was just as vibrant as he’d been five years ago.

Tubbo, on the other hand, had changed drastically.

In the years since he’d been adopted, the pale boy cautiously observing the world from behind a curtain of shaggy fair hair had brightened. His bony frame was less prominent, his cheeks full and rosy rather than gaunt. Pallid, papery skin had taken on a warm, golden glow. And his dull blue eyes that had seen far too much were brighter, clearer, happy memories now floating among the darker ones like patches of summer sky filtering through the clouds.

Some days, more fog was present, shrouding Tubbo from the light, but even on the worst days, Tommy was there. Tubbo wasn’t alone.

And even though Techno and Wilbur were adults now, and lived elsewhere, Tubbo was there. Tommy wasn’t alone.

“Tommy! Tubbo!” came a faraway shout. “It’s time for dinner!”

“Okay, Dad!” Tommy turned to his brother. “Race you home.”

Tubbo burst into a sprint, half a step behind, and they ran down the hill. Near the bottom, he couldn’t slow down, and he ran into Tommy’s back, tackling him into the grass.

“Goddammit, Tubbo.” Tommy spat out a mouthful of dirt and shoved Tubbo where he lay sprawled above the valley.

“Tommy!” Tubbo yelped, an arm shooting out to gain purchase. His fingers closed around fabric, and he heard Tommy shriek before he was tumbling down the hill, vision spinning and blurring as he gained speed. He felt each stick and rock poke at his shoulders and back and chest and stomach, and his gut roiled.

Then, he rolled to a stop.

“What the hell?” muttered Tommy.

"That was..." Tubbo blinked a few times, and the world stopped whirling. He burst out laughing, choking as he tried to catch his breath. “You pushed me and--oh my God. You fell too.”

Tommy groaned. “Shut up.” His eyes were sparkling, though, and in a second, he was grinning too, running a hand through his messy flop of golden hair. “I totally got you. You were so scared, you screamed.”

“So did you,” Tubbo countered, reaching to pull a few twigs out of his own hair.

Tommy raised his head and stared at him incredulously. “You grabbed my shirt!”

“What was I supposed to do? You pushed me down the hill! Besides, you would do the same thing if I pushed you.”

As much as he wanted to, Tommy couldn’t argue with that. “I’m hungry. Let’s go eat,” Tubbo told him.

“Hang on.” Tommy pointed at the dimming sky above the valley, streaked with pink and orange and red. “Look at the sunset.” His voice was uncharacteristically soft.

“It looks like the sky is on fire,” Tubbo observed.

Tommy exhaled. “Yeah.” He stared out at the colorful horizon unblinkingly, eyes clear.

They watched the sun sink until only a sliver of pink sky remained, and when that disappeared, Tommy stood up, pulling Tubbo up with him. His gaze moved down to Tubbo.

The house windows glowed with soft yellow light, but the light in Tommy’s face was even brighter.

_Tubbo doesn’t have a home,_ he’d told them that day. _Tubbo doesn’t belong anywhere._

_Everybody has a home,_ Wilbur had replied, but Tubbo hadn’t believed him.

Now, he knew, Wilbur was right. He did belong somewhere. He belonged here, with Tommy.

This was home. Not where his parents were, where he'd been yelled at and hit and had never been good enough. Not the box, which he had called his home. Not even this warm, welcoming, familiar house, where he'd been living with his real, loving family for five years.

Tommy was home. If Tommy was there, Tubbo could never be lost. Tubbo could go anywhere, and it would be home as long as Tommy was with him.

"Tubbo?" Tommy's voice pulled him out of his thoughts, and clear blue eyes refocused on his brother.

"Yeah?" _Home. This is home._

"You alright?"

Tubbo smiled at him, his dimples appearing, his eyes wide and bright and open. "Yeah. Yeah, I am."

Tommy grabbed his hand. "Come on, let's go eat. I'm starved."

When Tommy stepped over the threshold, the entire house seemed to brighten. Phil ushered his boys over to the kitchen table, which was too large now, but the three of them sat close, trying not to think about the two empty chairs. 

As they ate, Tubbo stared at the bare spot on the wall where Will's guitar would hang during the few times he wasn't playing it. He looked at the faded, green-and-white striped hat pulled over Phil's long hair, blond locks shot through with some gray like blight in a wheat field. He met Phil's deep blue eyes, which crinkled at the corners as he smiled at his youngest sons.

He glanced at Tommy, who was shoveling food into his mouth. His appetite had grown along with his limbs, but his bright blue eyes hadn't changed at all.

_I'm home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of my first mcyt/dream smp fic. It occurs in the dsmp setting, and I used many elements from the smp, but some things were my idea, and I tried to make it real, even though it's literally a block game. Hope you enjoyed! I'll be writing more in the future, maybe some more childhood shenanigans and also other characters in the smp.
> 
> idk man I'm just a guy who likes to write but I have random bursts of energy and motivation so there's no specific upload schedule. Leave a comment or kudos or something; honest feedback helps.
> 
> Thanks for reading :)

**Author's Note:**

> This was kinda short, but it's just an intro. The rest is coming, I promise :)
> 
> follow me @pisslord37 on twitter also follow my best friend @jai_ltime she's cool I guess :/


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